


My Gunslinger Swagger

by Geonn



Category: Indiana Jones Series, Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Dirty Talk, Drinking Games, Enemy Lovers, F/F, Face Slapping, Female Friendship, Rivalry, Slap Slap Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-22
Updated: 2011-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/267907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Helen Magnus finds retrieving an artifact more difficult than she expected and later reunites with the woman who caused her to fail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Gunslinger Swagger

**Author's Note:**

> This story made possible by the Sanctuary Porn Battle prompt(s) "Indiana Jones series, Helen Magnus/Marion Ravenwood, drinking games, cocktail dress." Title from Elvis Costello's "Go Away." Some elements, but not a lot, of rough sex. It's all in good fun, though, and everyone walks away satisfied.

Marion was well-practiced, with a steady hand. She poured one shot, left only a few drops on the table as she moved to fill Helen's glass. The bar was closed, but they could still hear drunkards singing in the street outside. Marion had lit a small votive at their table, and it was more than enough light for the two women. Once both glasses were filled, Marion smacked the butt of the bottle down on the table, lifted her glass, and held it out. "To not holding a grudge."

"Hear, hear." Helen tapped the edge of her glass against Marion's. They both drank, sneering as the liquor burned their throats going down. Once the pain subsided, Helen leaned back and enjoyed the aftertaste and the lingering buzz that hung back behind her eyes. She kept her fingers wrapped loosely around the glass, the pads of her thumb, index and middle finger wet with dripping Scotch. She turned the glass, forty-five degrees with each twist of her fingers, and stared at the woman across from her.

Marion Ravenwood was a contradiction. On the outside, she was petite, beautiful, and weak. She was a precious jewel to be protected. But anyone on the other side of her fist, or unwise enough to engage in a drinking contest with this featherweight, was in for an ugly surprise. She was a longshoreman dressed up like a woman, wearing the guise of a bartender.

Tonight she wore a man's shirt, two sizes too large for her, with the sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Her pants were too large as well, cinched around her slight waist with a thick leather belt. The clothes that she swam in only added to her appearance of frailty. Helen made the mistake of underestimating her once. Only once.

Marion picked up the bottle again, holding it up questioningly. Helen gestured with her hand, and Marion poured them each another shot. Helen picked hers up, and waited until Marion drank before she touched the rim to her lips. They were both dressed in men's clothing; Helen's clothes were actually tailored for her, but they still looked exactly like what the countless adventurers passing through The Raven. The crisp white shirt, the fedora, the beaten leather jacket and her pants with the multitude of pockets added up to give her a very masculine air. No one would underestimate Helen Magnus.

Helen hissed as she dropped the glass back to the table. She wet her lips and looked at Marion across the table. She remembered their first meeting, at the opening of Manhattan's Museum of Modern Art. Helen had looked lithe and dangerous in her cocktail dress, one blonde curl trailing down over her right eye as she drifted through the galleries. The petite brunette, daughter of the archaeologist whose collection made up a large portion of the donations.

It was a subdued affair, most of the investors bemoaning what had happened on Wall Street a few days earlier, and Helen easily managed to slip away unnoticed. She removed the funerary cones from their display, packed them carefully into the carrying bag disguised as a satchel, and turned to see Abner Ravenwood's nineteen year old daughter blocking her exit.

Helen remembered feeling no fear, just agitated at the delay. She casually stepped off the platform and approached the girl. "I don't want to hurt you. But I'm taking these with me."

"They belong to the museum."

"They belong with the people who created them. They are artifacts of a dying race, and they shouldn't be locked up thousands of miles away."

Marion produced a small pistol from her clutch. "Return them _now_."

"Get out of my way."

Marion fired. The shot went wide, or else Helen might have met a very embarrassing end. "Blood hell!" She put down her satchel so the cones wouldn't be damaged, then slid a hand up the outside of her leg from knee to upper thigh.

The two halves of the gown fell apart, revealing her garter and the daggers tucked underneath it. She withdrew one, curled her fingers around the padded handle, and flicked her wrist. The dagger flew through the air and nicked Marion's hand. She yelped and recoiled, dropping the gun. Helen bent down to pick up her satchel, looping the strap around her neck as she twisted on her right foot. She lashed out with her left foot and kicked Marion in the chest.

Marion stumbled backward, cursing as she went. She hit the wall and Helen ran past her. Men in tuxedos turned at the commotion, muttering their distaste at the thought of a woman running. And then Marion joined the chase, shouting things that made the men gasp in shock. Helen took another dagger from her garter and tossed it as she spun around. Marion ducked it and continued the chase.

"What are you thinking about?" Marion's voice pulled Helen back to the present. She was pouring another shot.

"The night you chased me."

"Bad memory."

Helen smiled and winked. "Depends on which side of the chase you were on."

Marion smirked and toasted once more before draining her glass. She and Helen said, "ahh," at the same time and Helen gestured at Marion's hand. "How did your cut heal?"

"Perfectly." She lifted her hand, turning it so Helen could see there was no scar or remnant of the injury. "Probably healed faster than your head."

Helen laughed. She didn't even remember the impact, but the bump that rose afterward left little doubt that she'd definitely been hit by an umbrella. "My ears rang for days."

"The police would have gotten you medical attention, if you'd stayed in their custody."

"I had other obligations." Helen picked up the bottle and poured shots for both of them. "Imagine my surprise when I discovered the cones were never returned to the museum."

Marion lifted her shoulder in a non-committal shrug. "I checked out your story. My father would never have forgiven himself if he'd taken something that didn't belong to him. We thought the carvers were long dead. You proved us wrong, so we did the right thing."

"Perhaps I should have tried talking to you rather than subterfuge."

"But then we probably never would have met."

Helen ran her thumb over the rim of her glass. "Hm. Worth the concussion, then."

"And worth the cut," Marion agreed.

They toasted and drank. They were extremely alike, but Helen had fifty years of experience on this young firebrand. Somehow they'd ended up in the same place. Women in a man's world, refusing to accept the boundaries imposed on them by society. They relied on the clothes and the swagger, the stiff upper lip and the straight spine, to fool people into seeing beyond their gender. They could fight just as hard as the boys, they could do everything a man could do. And in some cases, they could outdo any man they were pitted against. In fights, and in drinking.

Helen looked into her droplets of amber-colored liquor clinging to the concave line of her glass and touched her tongue to the corner of her mouth. "You know, if you're attempting to get me drunk, there's no need. I fully intend to spend the evening with you."

Marion looked at her, and Helen's gaze never faltered. The candle on their table was the only light in the room, and it made Marion's eyes shine like a cat's as she drained the last of her Scotch and then put the glass down in the center of the table.

"Well." Marion picked up the bottle's top and sealed the bottle again. "No point wasting good Scotch."

Helen pushed back her chair and held out her hand. "Then shall we?"

Marion stood and let Helen escort her out of the tavern. They went upstairs to Marion's small bedroom, neither of them bothering to turn on the overhead light before they kissed. Marion's mouth tasted like a smoke-filled wood, and Helen eagerly accepted her tongue. They stood in the middle of Marion's one-room apartment, letting the shadows obscure enough that Marion could push past the idea of what she was doing so she could just _do_ it.

"Tell me what you're going to do," Marion whispered.

Helen moved her lips to Marion's ear. She curled her hand in the thick, dark curls of Marion's hair and tugged gently, forcing her to tilt her head. Helen licked the shell of the ear, nibbled on the lobe, and then spoke in a husky whisper. "I'm going to kiss you until you cannot stand. With your remaining strength, you will remove my clothes as I remove yours. Then I'll take you to the bed. I will use my lips and my tongue and my fingers to make you ache for more." She kissed the loose strands of Marion's dark hair. "Is that what you had in mind, my dear?"

"Yes." Her voice was as small and frail as her appearance. She was breathing deeply now, trying not to hyperventilate. "So what's keeping you?"

"I believe in taking it slow."

"So do I. The second time."

Helen smiled and stepped back. She ran her fingers down Marion's throat, to the collar of her shirt, to the top button. The material ballooned as Helen undid the buttons, and she swept her hands over the bare flesh of Marion's upper chest to push the material off. Marion hunched her shoulders and the shirt fell, leaving her bare-chested. Helen put her hands over Marion's breasts, and Marion arched her back to fill the curved palms.

Their faces were inches apart. Helen could feel Marion's breath on her face, the aroma of the Scotch enveloping her. "You are so lovely," Helen whispered. "Marion, the raven." She kissed the tip of Marion's nose, then her closed eyelids, and finally her lips. Marion's mouth opened to her, and their tongues circled. Helen kept her hand on Marion's left breast, able to feel her heartbeat in her fingers, and dropped the other to her own belt. She and Marion managed to get it undone together, and Helen let the trousers fall.

With Marion topless, and Helen naked from the waist down, they moved toward the bed. They had taken off their shoes before they began drinking, and Helen was a few inches taller than Marion, forcing her to tilt her head up for kisses. Marion sat, and Helen settled on her lap. Marion stroked Helen's legs, and Helen brought her hands up to Marion's jaw. Marion kissed the center of Helen's palm and bit the meaty part just below her thumb.

Helen hissed slightly.

"Too hard?" Marion said, soothing the spot with her tongue.

"No. More."

Marion moved down Helen's arm, alternating between biting and kissing until she reached Helen's chest. She kissed the swells of Helen's breasts through her shirt, then kissed one of the buttons of her shirt. She pulled at it with her teeth, using her tongue to manipulate the material. Helen smiled and cupped the back of Marion's head. "Unless you intend to bite them off, I don't think that will be successful."

"Can I bite them off?" Marion asked.

"No." Helen gently pushed her back, then undid the top button. Marion stare, her hands stroking Helen's thighs as she watched the flesh being exposed to her. Helen took off her shirt and let it fall. Marion kissed Helen's breasts with the ceremony of someone taking a grand step. Helen closed her eyes and breathed through slightly parted lips as Marion's tongue circled her areola. She switched to the other breast, sucking before she bit.

"Ahh..." Helen pulled back and slapped Marion. "Too hard."

Marion slapped Helen's cheek in return, and Helen's eyes flashed with surprise, pain and lust.

Helen grabbed a handful of Marion's hair and pulled her head back. She grinned and pressed her body tight against Marion's bare stomach. Marion's eyes sparkled even in the darkness as she moved her hand to Helen's back, guiding her as Helen began to thrust. She pointed her toes on the floor, lifting her body to meet Helen's. Helen kissed Marion, scraping her teeth along Marion's bottom lip as she continued to grind against her stomach. Marion felt Helen's moisture spreading onto her skin and moaned into Helen's mouth with need.

"Tell me more," Marion gasped. "Tell me more of the things you're going to do to me."

"I'm going to kiss every part of your body. I'm going to take off your pants and spread your legs, and then I'm going to make you cry out my name." Marion kissed Helen's throat. "I'm going to tear away every shred of the masculinity you hide behind and prove that you are entirely... wonderfully... beautifully a woman."

Marion keened, digging her fingers into Helen's ass.

"But first--" She kissed Marion's eyes. "--I'm going to orgasm."

Marion leaned back, eyes wide, and she watched Helen's face as she climaxed. She pulled Helen's body tight against hers, feeling every tremor and quake of Helen's muscles. Finally Helen managed to pull herself away, kissing Marion's lips quickly before she made good on her promise. She lowered Marion, running her tongue through the valley between Marion's breasts, kissing Marion's stomach and tasting her own juices on the warm skin.

She unfastened Marion's pants and tugged them down. Marion instinctively put a hand over her sex, but Helen lifted it, kissed the fingers, and let it fall to one side. Marion put her hands in Helen's hair instead. Helen massaged Marion's inner thighs, working her thumbs in wide circles that moved closer and closer to her center. Helen licked her thumb and used it to tease Marion's clitoris with a soft, practiced touch.

"Do you want to feel my fingers inside of you, Marion?"

"Yes."

"And my tongue?"

"Yes, and your lips..."

"Then, Marion, say please."

"Helenplease."

Helen wet her lips and kissed Marion. She closed her eyes and used her tongue to open Marion just enough for her to slip inside. Marion's muscles immediately tightened around the intruder, but Helen relaxed her with a quick two-finger massage. Marion came quickly, whimpering and moaning wordlessly until her voice broke off with a crack and a sigh.

When Helen moved up, she swept her tongue over the moisture still present on her stomach and then lay on top of her. They kissed, and Marion hooked her leg over Helen's hip. Helen rolled off Marion, lying on her side next to her. She made a map on Marion's skin, outlining continents and borders and thin rivers. Gooseflesh rose and made it a relief map, and Helen bent down to kiss random spots of skin. She licked Marion's sweat away, and Marion sat up to nuzzle Helen's face, neck and shoulder.

"So the next time we meet," Marion said, her voice shaking as Helen's mouth was currently teasing her nipple. "Will it be as friends or-or enemies?"

"It depends on whether I agree with what you're doing at the time." She lifted her head and smiled. "But I suspect whichever side we find ourselves on, we'll repeat this evening."

Marion stroked the cheek she had slapped in the heat of the moment. "I look forward to it, Dr. Magnus."

"As do I, Miss Ravenwood."

Helen pulled Marion to her and they kissed before falling back to the mattress, their limbs tangling as they made the most out of what was left of the night.


End file.
